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I traipse
through the unrelenting minefield,
disabling mines
in an instant;
I deliver a small blue thumbs-up.

 

But:
every disarmament,
every thumbs-up,
every engagement
pours hot black oil into the fire;
more mines
multiply left and right, up      and     down.

 

I tear my eyes
away—I wrestle with
my inner narcissist,
my confrontational warrior—sighing,
I retreat.

 

My thumb brushes over
the nearly-imperceptible indent and—
suddenly—
I am granted exit, no, release, from Facebook:
to sleep.






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